Support this effort: Aid for Aidan

Have you heard this story? Five-year-old Aidan is going through treatment for leukemia. He also loves all things monster. To offset some of the costs of ongoing treatment, his family prints and sells his drawings on Etsy. What an amazing kid! Every blog and Facebook update shows him with a huge smile on his face as he endures so much. Learn about his story here and here. And check out his artwork here. 

Keeping up the good work!

On Friday, I took one bizarre trip to Kellogg Cancer Center. I left with just one tiny vein poke, NO nausea, and a 3-month stamp of approval. My blood work showed that everything is in (nearly) working order. My white blood cells are not quite as strong as they should be, but they're on their way back. And every sneezing, nose-picking two-year old I encounter helps the cause.

GOOOO REMISSION!

New Updates to Health Care Reform!

On September 23, new legislation brought better assurance of coverage to Americans including young adults-an overwhelmingly under/uninsured population. Kairol Rosenthal's Everything Changes blog covers the key details here.

Imerman's Angels Benefit

Fantastic organization + Amazing clothes + Lush urban setting =

Forget-Me-Not

At three and half months out of chemo, it's probably safe to say that the drugs have, for the most part, evacuated my body. My eyebrows are back, I've got serious energy and The Hair Tracker is in full swing. While the hideous side effects of six months of treatment will never be forgotten, hopping back into "real life" has displaced them from their usual position at the top of my list of things to obsess over. So I've occasionally been surprised by some of the minor but to-be-expected results:

Age spots Really?  Thanks a lot, chemotherapy. Time to bust out the exfoliator and start caring what Retinol is.

Peripheral Neuropathy The tiny shock that spontaneously occurs in my feet never gets old.

Heartburn Not even comparable to during treatment, but still happens occasionally.

Yes, that's correct. Three and a half months out of treatment!

Dance Power! Yeah!

After a long hiatus from self-centered posting, let's talk about me. Today I began my sixth season at Zephyr Dance. While the beginning of each consecutive year leaves me marveling that I am yet another year out of college, entering number six feels truly commemorative. For several months I've wondered how I would fare through a busy teaching and rehearsal schedule without vicious invaders messing with my energy level. Here's my opportunity to test that theory. In fact, I'm so eager to prove I'm right that I agreed to teach on Friday nights this year. I'll need that reminder as I trudge through inbound traffic this winter...

I can only hope that as I round the corner on season 7 I'll be up for this:

Another great article link

On one of my new go-to blogs (NOT the wedding kind), I discovered a link to an article by Vanity Fair contributor Christopher Hitchens that details his personal travels through cancer treatment. It contains a perfect balance of clarity and flourish that makes me keep going back to read it.

http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2010/09/hitchens-201009

Progress!

I just have to make note of my Hair Tracker progress. What a difference a month makes. Although Cody has been retired for quite some time, her work is truly done.

New blogs to check out!

You think I'm funny and insightful. Check out this blog:

http://dicktersbedpan.wordpress.com/

And the one I found it through, also very compelling:

http://katiesblogw.blogspot.com/2010/06/surprises-responsibility-bliss.html#comment-form


Happy reading!!

Aftermath

I couldn't figure out why I was so exhausted on Monday. And Tuesday. And then I remembered an important reminder I received from Northshore Survivorship nurse Carol Martz: Even though the drugs have left my system, the lasting effects of chemo can potentially wreak havoc on my energy level from time to time.

So far, I do pretty well with daily activity: yoga, rehearsal, a 20th anniversary concert. I notice the fatigue at times when my days are spent staring at the computer.

And with that, I'm off to celebrate the good health with a trip to Phoenix and San Diego. Snorkeling, swimming, pool lounging and, regretfully, no computer. So long until next Wednesday....

Strength Training

A question for Customer Service everywhere:

How can it be deemed unusually high call volume if it's constantly the case? When is the off-season?

This is a valid question coming from a patient who has spent countless hours on hold with billing offices and call centers. After receiving my diagnosis and learning that I could not teach dance, I immediately looked into options for financial assistance. Six months of repeatedly providing my account numbers,  I've managed to navigate my way through the system, but there are a few things I've learned:

1. Many hospitals supply patients with personnel to assist with complicated bills and financial aid. Though part of the hospital, my treatment facility employed a separate advocate designated to their patients. If you have access to this resource, use it.

2. Keep a record of phone conversations. Include the date, person you spoke to, the nature of the call and answer you received.

3. While waiting for financial decisions to go through review panels, be persistent. Procuring financial assistance was a constant waiting game. Though my account was on hold (no bills due) during this period, I still received statements in error every month. Calling frequently was a necessary measure to ensure that my account was not placed in collections. Additionally, after receiving a grant award from the Leukemia Lymphoma Society, I acted as a go-between for the hospital billing and the organization. 

What I've REALLY learned:

If I had followed my advice in step #1 I probably wouldn't have advanced to steps #2 and #3. Not that they weren't good habits to build. Oh, the valuable lessons I've acquired...

Cleaning Cancer Out Of My Apartment: An Initiative

In continuing to make this remission thing more official, I recently un-medicalized my apartment. No government leaflets about "Cancer and Me." No excess pill bottles. No patient binder. What we've affectionately dubbed the Apothecary Table has been eradicated.

Part symbolic measure, part need to clean my dusty apartment, the moment I cleared this table I knew it meant something. In fact, I deemed it so meaningful I decided to put everything back on the table to take a picture so I could share the "before" and "after" with you all. 

And since I am a self-proclaimed pack rat, I didn't feel like I could just throw all this stuff away. It's  been banished to a box simply labeled "DO NOT OPEN." Enough said.

New Updates to Health Care Reform!

The Leukemia Lymphoma Society has begun hosting weekly webcasts dedicated to addressing concerns facing young adult cancer patients and survivors. I listened in for the first time last night, and panel members provided some creative tips regarding how to deal with the impact of diagnosis on health insurance and employment:

Benefits During Medical Leave: 

Through the Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA), companies that employ more that 50 workers on a regional scale are required to grant employees 12 weeks per year of unpaid medical leave while taking care of loved ones or undergoing treatment. During this time employees are assured job protection and the preservation of health benefits.

Plus, read about new ground-breaking details on health care reform and preexisting conditions:

http://www.hhs.gov/news/press/2010pres/07/20100701a.html

Several states are operating their own plans while others will be run by the Department of Health and Human Services. Premiums will NOT be determined based on disease category or salary.

Find out how to apply here.

In the MOST delightful way!

Remission is upon us...and it could not have come sooner! Although I was very confident about yesterday's outcome, as my doctor entered the exam room she began, "So here's a loaded question..." My heart sank as I was convinced she was about to ask how I felt about more treatment or radiation. Thankfully, she began sharing the story of a new young patient whom she hoped to give my contact info. Sigh of relief. As I receive my amazing news, the Mary Poppins of medicine has already begun transitioning to the next patient. Not that I mind in the least.

I did ask whether or not the word "remission" should be entering my vocabulary. I was met by an emphatic "yes!" along with other wonderful phrases like "fully recovered" and "done!"


If you're concerned that this means the end of "The Cancer Dancer," don't worry.  I think this is a ideal place to raise awareness about young adults with cancer, a widely misunderstood group of patients. (Sorry, teens, it's not you guys.)

Voting for Remission

Final tallies have not been made, but polling sites are officially closed. And by polls I mean Highland Park Hospital Radiology Department. And by votes I mean the fate of my lymph nodes. I did double duty this morning with a PET Scan followed by a CT Scan. A final visit to my doctor on Monday will determine if. I. am. cured.

Stay tuned.

My love/hate relationship with steroids

It is an eternally changing status. During treatment, steroids serve to subsidize the harsh side effects of chemotherapy. I was given a strong dose of hydro-cortisone before the "D" segment of my ABVD treatment. Dacarbazine is the lengthiest and, as far as I understand, most aggressive of the four drugs infused.  I also took Benadryl just before treatment and a prescribed steroid in the two days afterward. This helped curb skin irritation, nausea, aches and pains: you name it. Great, right? Well, sort of...

I was grateful when, after explaining my considerable arm pain, she added the hydro-cortisone to my routine, and it made a huge difference in my comfort level. This coincided with a surprising inability to button my jeans. Bummer. In three short months I went from being unable to wear my clothes because of my emaciated state to just the opposite.

I made an uneducated assumption that after my chemo cycles were complete I'd feel the final effects for the usual 8 days or so and go on my merry way. I didn't realize that while I said goodbye to the drug pushing nurses, exhausted veins and debilitated immune system I was also leaving behind the magical effects of steroids. While the chemo drugs continue to attack,  the steroids eventually wear off. I'm gradually going back to my normal size (phew) and dealing with life after steroids: experiencing muscle aches and a seriously irritating ear ache.

And once again, I realize that this debacle is not quite over. The waiting is the hardest part.

Had to include this one. Looks like Cody makes a cameo:

Chemically-Untreated

I've battled over the pros and cons of buying organic produce for a long time. As organics become more readily available and widely deemed safer than the pesticide-ridden alternative I considered the expense more seriously. With no real explanation for my diagnosis other than "lifestyle factors," I am determined to take more control over what I'm putting in my body. This is an ongoing process that I started in January. No more aluminum was the first step:

As the Kellogg Cancer Center dietitian put it, there is no proven scientific link between cancer risk and organic food consumption.  Since nothing except genetics and lifestyle factors can explain my little ordeal, I'm slowly making the change anyway. I found a site that prioritizes what foods should be bought organic. Check out the list here. And find out what produce is safe to buy non-organic.

Thanks to Daily Candy, I also discovered The Organic Pharmacy: a site that lists carcinogenic chemicals found in many body care products. Can't wait to go through my arsenal of a make-up bag with that list. Or can I...

NEW ARTICLE: Cancer and Patient

An interesting article about how to proactively get yourself through treatment.  http://www.suntimes.com/business/pincus/2341066,FIT-News-Pincus02.article

Coming soon: my own philosophy/regiment...

Comments Section Update

I just discovered that the settings on my blog did not allow all readers to post comments. Crisis averted. I've changed the settings so that EVERYONE can add their two cents. Post away!

CONTEST ALERT!!! I like cold, fizzy beverages: an evolution

Supposedly the pharmaceutical industry has made great strides in developing drugs to curb the nausea attributed to chemotherapy. I don't care. I will put all my energy into avoiding non-mandatory medications whenever possible. (In lieu of Advil, waving my arms and legs wildly to relieve bone aches has been known to happen.) Therefore, I'm pretty much never without a fizzy beverage by my side for when the waves of nausea arrive.

And now, 12 doses behind me, I have become a serious connoisseur of the clear soda. (Colas have caffeine. Caffeine inhibits vein health.) And now a carbonated journey:

 You didn't think I was just going to lay all my nausea-combating secrets out this easily? Nope, I'm putting you all to work. Out of these six choices (Canada Dry Green Tea, Canada Dry ORIGINAL, Generic Seltzer, Whole Foods Ginger Ale, Schweppes and Topo Chico Mineral Agua) which did I turn to first but subsequently and overwhelmingly detest? What can I still stomach?  Determine the order in which these became my beverage of choice. Once a winning solution has been posted, I will provided a detailed explanation of this progression. (I know, serious incentive.)

HOW TO ENTER: In the comments section of this post, list the correct order and tell me YOUR favorite fizzy beverage.

WHAT YOU'LL WIN: Bragging rights. I don't have any advertisers to donate giveaway prizes yet. If you're so inclined I'll post your picture in a special post!

BOOYOUNG'S GREATEST HITS! Declaring my love of the music infomercial...

Some crucial accompaniment

More often than not, when chemo rolled around every two weeks, I wasn't eagerly hopping in the car for more blood draws, draining treatment sessions and subsequent side affects. Early on (treatment #2) I decided to create an empowering tradition to get geared up for what was inevitably in store. It is the Cancer Dancer mantra that almost nothing makes life more upbeat and hopeful than dancing to a great song.

Since including ALL 11 editions seems excessive, I'm offering a revised greatest hits playlist of Lauren and my bi-monthly jaunts to Evanston Hospital. As part of our superstitious nature, the first five songs made it onto each playlist in identical order. Each volume is titled thanks to an early treatment exclamation of triumph (Booyah!) transformed by the name of a hapless home searcher during my HDTV obsession. I present "Booyoung's Greatest Hits..."

Six cycles complete!!

12 doses/6 cycles, December 19-May 24....

In the words of my very wise friend, Jessie, "And stay out!" In my own celebratory words, "Wheee!"

The Cancer Dancer dances on this June!

 
   Join Zephyr Dance for our 20th Anniversary Concert

in the looking

June 24, 25 and 26 at 8:00pm

Epiphany Episcopal Church
201 S. Ashland in Chicago (map)
Tickets are $20 for adults,
$15 for students and seniors
For tickets and information, visit our website. 

...And don't forget to sign our birthday card!

Hitting the pavement for blood cancer research

Training for her fifth Chicago Marathon, my friend Jill Forister has generously elected to raise funds for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society.  There's nothing more inspiring than getting a brief glimpse of running friends enclosed in an athletic herd. This year she's doing it for a worthy cause thanks to my own connection to LLS. Check out her fundraising page:

http://pages.teamintraining.org/il/chicago10/jforister

Run, Jill, run!! (Because "dance, Jill, dance!" elicits a very different response...)

Welcome back...

Behold my calloused, filthy gems:

I've been extra cautious about the welfare of my feet throughout treatment. They've been heavily guarded by the ever-durable Target sock (perfect thickness and warmth for a marley floor) for fear that I'd manage to slice my foot open while doing some treacherous pas de bourrées.

But the weather's getting warmer, and unless I can shuffle around in my dingy old J. Crew flip flops something is truly missing from my spring/summer self. Plus, Zephyr's annual Illinois Wesleyan Tour de Dance Appreciation class is upon us. And my turquoise socks ARE NOT considered nice rehearsal attire in any sense of the word. (Check out the neglected ones heaped in the corner...)

Oh bare feet, I've missed you so very much.

Third time IS a charm.

Every time I try to plug this article I inevitably begin discussing something completely different. Hence, my third post in two hours.

This is semi-related to my last post in regards to sharing information with others and the degree of hesitancy that follows. It's a recent NY Times blog post that talks in circles in a way that my brain seems to be spinning recently. Nice to see something align with my crazy orbitting head: 

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/03/15/with-cancer-lets-face-it-words-are-inadequate/

The Social Media Conundrum...a continuous plight

With our convenient and exhaustive list of ways to instantly share anything and everything with  400+ friends, you would assume that it would have been easy to sound the alarms with an ever powerful Facebook status update the moment I got my diagnosis last December.

As the girl who makes everything in her life more difficult than it has to be, you would be so very wrong. I have spent every day since so cautiously keeping my NEWS out of the news feed. As I sat in the hospital that night, I tearfully begged my mom not to tell her close friends what was going on with me yet because I thought that they might spread the word. I feared it would end up posted on my Facebook wall before I had the chance to make obligatory phone calls, send countless emails or patiently explain what a lymph node was while perched on my couch with concerned friends. Meanwhile, I had my sister lock my Facebook wall so that no one could post anything "suggestive." (Or anything at all for that matter.) My "friends" did not need to be digesting this new information at the same rate/timeline that I was.

And when you don't feel like you've got control of much else, what's more satisfying than shutting people out on the internet?

Cancer is really tough thing to share with people in your life who are not family, close friends or bosses. There is an obligation and need to notify in these cases. When I consider whether I should let people know who are outside this circle, the thought of just having to bring it up inevitably changes my mind. Especially having to bring it up to someone you haven't seen in six months or a year. And it certainly doesn't get any easier. Therefore, Facebook does not know about my recent adventures without some sluething (via my other very neglected blog link).

Although it does know about the small, accidental fire I started in my kitchen last week.

On the Boat

I keep stumbling across this term: survivorship. I can't really wrap my brain around what it means. I guess it has to do with the club I'm working to join. And as I continue my (web-based) quest to figure out what's next, it only brings more questions, concerns, musings. The most daunting of them:

What if it comes back? (Insert silence, fear, uncertainty, nervously shifty eyes.)

I'm trying to learn how to cope with that possibility. In working to get better, it was enough to be just getting past chemo dose #12. Now that I'm just 10 days from that date the expanse of this bubble I've been in is shifting.

Meet my new friend, http://i2y.com/. Apparently survivors rule. I am officially signed up. (And trying to get The Cancer Dancer into their blogroll.)

New great links!

I was experimenting with just how hard I have to try to get The Cancer Dancer to show up on the first page of a Google search. (The answer is really hard or by using my URL.) I stumbled on a few new blogs to share and also a great Newsweek article about how young people are using technology and humor to cope with their disease. (Me? Attempt humor? Never...) Without more ado, some additions to my blog list:

I'm Too Young For This! 


http://igotthecancer.blogspot.com/

And the Newsweek article that lead to these blogs (definitely worth a read): http://www.newsweek.com/id/209319/page/2

Defining Normal, an attempt

Chemo #11 yesterday: just one more treatment to go. I decided to ask my doctor about what to expect in life after chemo having, you know, ravaged my body with intense doses of poison for the past six months.

"Well, you'll just go back to normal," she replied.

Just go back to normal?

"Actually, since you've been doing great and had so much energy, you may not really feel a lot of changes." (Which makes me feel a bit rock star when she points out that my treatment regiment is particularly intense AND that I'm kind of amazing!)

I supposed that I do have moments of normalcy, but combined with a pinch of paranoia and a dose of self-consciousness, it's what I'd call a very tentative normalcy. I've been pushing towards the moment  that last IV comes out of my arm for months, but what then? Oh right, everything will go back to normal.

How DO YOU define normal in your life? No seriously, I'm asking...comment and share if you wish!

Lymphoma Researcher named to TIME 100 List

For his steps towards advancing lymphoma research, TIME named Dr. Larry Kwak to their annual list of the most influential people. LLS' blog has more details, but here's the TIME article too.

And I can't resist sharing Joel Stein's list of the least influential people. Still laughing out loud.

Remedial Veins

When I opted out of receiving chemo treatment through a port embedded into my chest back in January, I was accepting the fact that somewhere down the line (ha, ha) my veins would start to slack. Choosing to stick with IV treatment was not a decision I came to easily. (Although actually seeing one really tipped the scales in the favor of needles. I didn't envision a compatible relationship between dancing and something floating around under my skin.) Ultimately, I was not interested in anything else involving the words "surgical" and "procedure," and with treatment doses spread out by two weeks I hoped that would be enough time to let them chill out between infusions.  (Sounds so serene and spa-like, doesn't it?)

I began requesting lidocaine injections with my IV about a month ago. By numbing the area around the injection site, it makes treatment and subsequent side effects much more comfortable. Why not, right? Enter my treatment room last Monday and you would find a nurse highly trained in vein navigation doing some serious digging. Talk about elusive. After wiggling around in my left arm for awhile (I alternate arms each treatment.) she moved on to my right arm which was already exahusted from the past two weeks. Success at the expense of my poor right arm: all lumpy and hardened as I write this post. My nurse kindly reminded me to get some electrolytes next time. Hydration makes for a healthy vein, and even though I really try to drink tons of fluid before treatment, my efforts pale in comparision to the mighty chemo drug.  Hello Gatorade!

An equation

Two grants. Two days. Two chemo doses left.

Exhaustion.

The writing's on the wall: We're superstitious.

So far, everything's going right. Who would mess with that by changing any ounce of their pre-chemo routine? Certainly not this girl.  My super-comfy Smart Wool socks are a must. So is my "hope"-printed underwear. The soundtrack for every car ride to Evanston must include the same first five tracks. This soundtrack is always entitled "Booyoung" followed by the number of that particular treatment. (Another discussion for another time.) So when my sister (the girl in the bright yellow bug) nearly had to miss Chemo #10, our superstitious tendencies threatened to be compromised.

Luckily, a hungover Lauren took one for the team and did a little bit of extra driving yesterday. Call me crazy but the socks and underwear can't do it on their own...

Updating my Updates

Here I am sitting on some great details to report for over a week, and they still haven't made it in to a post! Ten days ago I had a CT scan that indicated that my lymph nodes are no longer taking over my body. Great news, right? It gets better. Well, better may not be the most appropriate word. Revealing is my official choice.

Bottom line: to say that my lymph nodes were simply taking up some extra space is an understatement. Thanks to some Google searching, I've discovered that the average little lymph node oozes around your chest at about 1.5 cm. Mine were 4cm! No wonder I couldn't breathe. But leave it to this crazy dancer to blame it on her lack of endurance. Take a look at the numbers with a grain of excited and hopeful salt. Arming myself with Google search to decipher these results is probably not the wisest choice, but here they are in their staggering glory:  (Although I should have made you guess Price is Right style.)

Chest lymph nodes
December.... April
 4.3x4.8cm.....2.2x3.0cm
1.8x2.3cm.....0.9x1.1cm
3.3x4.2cm....1.0x0.9cm


In other important lymph node news, the ones in my abdomen are back to NORMAL. A word that I relish. 

Don't blink. You might miss them.

A few months ago I started to realize that I didn't look like myself, but I couldn't figure out how or what was making me feel this way. With no recent plastic surgeries to report, I was baffled. That is until one rare day that I went to put on make-up and discovered what was missing: my eyelashes. I would never have guessed how significantly those miniscule hairs can alter an appearance, but when I applied mascara the few lashes still clinging to my eyelids sprang to life and there I was.

I am completely obsessed with make-up and have been since meeting Bonne Bell at age 5. One plastic candy cane filled with Lip Smackers and I've never turned back. I've been an avid supporter of the old standby pink and green tube of Maybelline Great Lash forever, but a recent dangerous trip to Sephora led me to stray to one of the best investments I've made throughout chemo:

Dior BlackOut mascara:  Now the official mascara of Chemo Girl and her three remaining eyelashes.

VOTE FOR ME!

In my many hours pouring over bridal blogs I stumbled upon a contest for best wedding toasts. Since I recently had the honor of toasting two fabulous people to what I can unabashedly call "mild acclaim," I decided to go for it. Check out the official transcript here.

And please ignore my inconsistent use of "bride," "groom," "jessie" and "jamie." My usually hawk-like editing skills were on vacation this morning when I typed it in. Whoops.

VOTE FOR ME!

The results are IN!

That's right! Enter Rocky theme...One more loss for cancer as my CT scan results indicated that those giant lymph nodes look DRAMATICALLY better! Phew! Although I kinda knew intuitively, it's nice to get the emphatic stamp of approval from my doctor.

Let the jumping up and down commence!

In the name of millimeters...

Four more treatments to go...the end is in sight. Not quite plain view, but that point when you're driving southbound on the Edens and you get that first shadowy glimpse of the Sears Tower. I've certainly taken better care of myself this time around. (Translation: not drinking so much that my veins disappear. Even Chemo Girl gets to have a little fun!)

Another test is upon us. Tomorrow I visit the friendly radiology department at NorthShore for a CT Scan. Though February's PET Scan showed that there is no more abnormal uptake (the cancer is not active/spreading), my lymph nodes were still enlarged. And by enlarged I mean centimeters. These nodes have been seriously cramping my lung capacity's style for far too long, so I'm really excited to see the results of tomorrow's photo shoot.  Not only am I excited, I'm sure that they've shrunk. Considering my sizable knowledge of the medical field,  here are several reasons why I might be the most optimistic (or delusional?) girl you know:

On Monday, I was doing a pretty intense pectoral muscle stretch during rehearsal and discovered that I was able to breathe easily in the position for the first time IN THREE YEARS. The reason that was my first foray into that particular stretch in awhile is because during Zephyr's usual Monday yoga routine I typically feel like falling down. Recently, however, I'd compare my energy level to that of the Grinch when he lifts the sleigh over his head. Serious power! So not only does my strength and energy level continue to dramatically rise, but I actually feel like I can understand the clues my body gives me.

Time to drink a really awful concoction no milkshake will mask in the name of measurement. Millimeters and such....

I can't stop reading this story.

http://community.lls.org/blogs/lls/2010/03/25/ben-and-beth-love-hope-and-cancer

I know this is posted over to your right, but I wanted to really point it out.  I think I know them...or at least two people like them.

A Wedding of Wigs and Wicks

So I'm hoping that you are all very slow readers. I've been immersed in wedding hoopla and can't seem to jump back in to writing about cancer. Go figure! But really, who am I helping by looking at the 37th blog filled with inspiration boards and DIY projects for a glamorous backyard shindig?

Last weekend, I was unbelievably thrilled to partake in one of my oldest and dearest friend's wedding. I was super honored that Jessie asked me to be her maid of honor and spent the last nine months obsessively asking how I could help with the planning. So when this business popped up in December, I had plenty of concerns. I wanted to participate in the same capacity but was unsure of how I would feel and (yes, I'll admit it) look. It's a moot point. Who's looking at the maid of honor? Well, I wanted to keep it that way and opted to bring along my new friend Cody for a bit of support.

I will say this: I've worn "Cody" (the blonde-choppy counterpart to my otherwise scantily clad head) maybe 7-8 times, and I still can't decide if I'm sold. For the record, Jerome Krause names their wigs, not me. I'm not sure whether anyone was fooled, but she stayed intact all night. Even through my own personal rendition of "Thriller."

(If it weren't my 4th day after chemo I swear I'd crop out the lower 

right corner of this pic. You get the idea regardless.)

 Bottom line, we all had an amazing and sentimental weekend. Certainly I could have gone without splitting my dress up the back, but I blamed the steroids and some dance floor lunges and moved on. 

In terms of feeling up to the trip, I am positive that the excitement leading up to last weekend helped me fly through the usual chemo side effects. Amidst concerns about my weakened immune system, I was prescribed a 3-day neupogen injection to boost my white count while we navigated one too many germy airports. I was nervous that the brief treatment would be painful, but I made it through with just a bit of jaw pain.

In conclusion, (it feels like time to be conclusive)...

Although this routine is getting pretty old, attending Jessie's wedding/taking a mini-vacation/discussing the sustainability of salt licks(?) in a toast to 120 people briefly made me forget that this business had ever been an issue.

Ripping off the Band-aid

As bewildered as I've been by this whole hair loss/head shaving debacle, it's over. I decided a while ago that sharing this facet of my experience was particularly important. I wonder if I had stumbled across a similar blog posting a few months ago I would have dealt with it differently. Special thanks to Matt's crafty editing work and my fantastic stylist Courtney Engel's serious abilities with clippers. Although it's not featured in this particular video, her work with thinning shears is also incomparable.

Imerman's Angels Benefit

Imerman's Angels, a fantastic organization that pairs survivors with current patients for support, is hosting a benefit this Thursday. Provide your own support for this special program:

What: Imerman's Angels 4th Annual Spring Fling
When: Thursday, March 18, 7-11pm
Where: Enclave, 220 W. Chicago Ave., Chicago
Admission: $30 presale at www.imermanangels.org, $40 at the door

An Inspiring Story

This is sportswriter Rick Reilly's tales of spending time with Denver Nugget's coach and current cancer patient George Karl. His treatment sounds much more intense and invasive than mine, and I admire his open attitude and spirit. Thanks for sharing, Matt!

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/news/story?id=4997277

It's time for a sing-a-long!

Because I don't make good use of my time, this is what I did this morning. In true Weird Al form, I've created my own lyrics for Rocky theme "Eye of the Tiger." I dedicate it to the driver of the bright yellow bug. So follow this link and play it while perusing my lyrics.

"Survivor: Eye of the Hodgkin's"
By Anne Kasdorf

Walkin' out, onto McLean
Time to go get some chemo
Had pneumonia, now I'm back on my feet
Just an Anne and her will to survive.
Six cycles of, A-B-V-D
Will get those lymph nodes back to normal
We're off to Kellogg in the bright yellow bug
Just to rid cancer cells from my life!!!

It's the eye of the Hodgkin's
in my chest and stomach
but it never got into my lungs, yeah.
And the rate of survival's unbelievably high
So I'm gonna get rid of the eeeeeeyyyyyee.
Of the Hodgkin's.

I was sick, feelin' so tired
Now I'm tough, stayin' hungry (for ice cream)
I've got big lymph nodes, and my white count is low
Chemo Girl's got the skill to survive

It's the eye of the Hodgkin's
in my chest and stomach
but it never got into my lungs, yeah.
And the rate of survival's unbelievably high
So I'm gonna get rid of the eeeeeeyyyyyee.
Of the Hodgkin's.

Cortisone, straight to the vein
Lost some hair, not my dinner
Went through chemo, now I'm not gonna stop
Just an Anne and her will to survive

It's the eye of the Hodgkin's
in my chest and stomach
but it never got into my lungs, yeah.
And the rate of survival's unbelievably high
So I'm gonna get rid of the eeeeeeyyyyyee.
Of the Hodgkin's.

SHAMELESS PLUG ALERT!!!

Zephyr Dance, the modern dance company I have so proudly been a member of for FIVE SEASONS, is celebrating its 20th birthday. Check out our new channel on youTube: ZephyrDanceTV! The first "episode" promotes our online birthday card. In order to support our fabulous programming (exciting choreography, unparalleled arts education work...) we are hoping for 500 signatures throughout 2010. What can YOU do with $20? Find out here.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZEPHYR DANCE! I eat a cupcake in your honor.

Searchin' for my lost grande plié

As I gradually regain proper use of my dance technique, I'm still missing one key component: my grande plié.

Now, a brief but worthwhile digression for my non-dance readers:

According to Gail Grant, (Webster of the ballet world) a grande plié is a full bending of the knees; an exercise to render the joints soft and pliable and the tendons flexible and elastic, and to develop a sense of balance. 

(Translated: a fancy squat and return to standing sans grunt)

My muscle memory has actually been pretty miraculous throughout this process. Considering that at Christmas I could barely climb steps, I'm relieved to have rediscovered my feet, spine and
(speaking of miracles) abdominals. And yet, if I attempt this full, pliable bending, I'm not getting up. Maybe Jimmy Buffett knows where I put my plié...

strand by strand by strand

Ever since I learned of my treatment options I've attempted to brazenly and casually mask any insecurities I have about losing my hair. Even as I write this, I feel the need to select my words so carefully as to sound poetic and insightful and NOT UNGRATEFUL that I'm getting better.  I'm really struggling to admit how preoccupied I am by this inevitable disappearance. It shouldn't be a big deal. It shouldn't.  I made it clear that I planned to shave my head as soon as the shedding got excessive. Or as long as I made it past various events, then I'd do it. Or my hair didn't look "so" thin (a constantly relative term). Excuses, excuses.

I've had almost three months to watch the strand by strand dispersal of my hair. But yesterday I found myself putting down a deposit. A deposit to a guy named Jerome who swears you'll never see anyone wearing his hairpieces. At least that's their motto. 


I think my discomfort lies in that a bald head or fake hair automatically seems to tattoo "Cancer Patient" across my forehead. Enter fear, sympathy, pity. Bleh. I'm really trying to articulate this in a tactful way, but maybe there isn't. Whine.

And as long as we're being supportive...

The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and OVAC have joined forces to urge legislators to increase the budgets of the National Institute of Health and the National Cancer Institute. This supports vital cancer research efforts. Contact your representatives here.

Support the American Cancer Society!

Help our friend Bryan Kappy raise money for the American Cancer Society. He's taken on the unenviable task of running Chicago's annual Shamrock Shuffle. (The sheer thought makes me hyperventilate.) Go Kappy Go!!!

http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR/DetermiNation/DNFY10Illinois?px=14175880&pg=personal&fr_id=25051&fl=en_US&et=XVj27bXWBgTGUiwvI0fAMA..&s_tafId=469704

On to other things. Or not. Just things.

I was going to write about my latest obsession with wedding blogs and all things DIY. (Who knew I was crafty?) But then I remembered that this blog is about cancer and dance and not my lack of focus. Stay on track, Chemo Girl.

A report on this cycle, my 3rd. The first dose left me wondering whether my nagging symptoms would drag through the next treatment. Thanks to an easier experience on my second dose, I credit a few things:

-The chemo drugs were pushed through my IV at a slower rate this time. (Thanks drug-pushing nurses!) Two drugs are administered via syringe, so it's totally up to my nurse and her thumb. The other two take a slightly longer journey from very severe looking plastic bags and swirl through a long tiny tube into whichever lucky vein we've picked this week. The miracle of chemo.

-I've had the extreme fortune to participate in a very conveniently timed research study involving fascial release work. My fearless massage therapist, Jenice, takes on the weekly quirks facing my body. Initially I really noticed a reduced amount of jaw pain, and flu-like aches are significantly less. Insert positive testimonial HERE!  (Unfortunately I don't know how to add links to posts. Who wants to teach me?)

On to chemo treatment number 6! Almost halfway...

A Cancer Dance

I think it involves some super aggressive rhythm tap, 13 fouette turns and lots of punches thrown at some abnormal cell growth that never saw it coming. As predicted, the cancer cells have a limited time left in my body. In fact, it's expired. To be completely and dimwittedly technical, on a MACROscopic level, the cancer has diminished in a way that my PET scan could not detect it. On what I can only guess is a microscopic level, it could still be there. For this reason I will continue on my current treatment trajectory through May. An okay trade-off.

About the aforementioned cake wishes: today Mom brought cupcakes to treatment! What else can I casually hope for in this blog?

The BEST News!

After anxiously awaiting the results of my PET scan, I learned this afternoon that I am well on my way to beating this thing. My nurse's words: "the Hodgkin's has significantly lessened." This is all I know. Way too excited to formulate intelligent questions!!! More details will follow my appointment on Monday.

Having completed my second cycle (four treatments) of chemo, my doctor wanted to check the progress of my treatment.  I am just now able to spout out the names of my particular cocktail. Since I've traded vodka tonics for bleomycin,  I certainly was not interested in switching to a much more invasive mix with new confusing names and icky side effects.

A sigh of relief and a celebratory cheer are in order! This is really great news.

The Adventures of Chemo Girl!

Her special power? In moments of sheer exhaustion, Chemo Girl surprises her fiercest foes with sudden bursts of energy: jumping in heels during a rare night out, dancing through the nausea in company class.

Every one of these startling instances is her opportunity to deliver a time bomb to these vicious invaders. Her energetic optimism is just a reminder: your days are numbered, cancer cells.

And she wears a cape.

Stay tuned! Tomorrow Chemo Girl meets her fate at the PET scan...

The Effects of Chemo II: A Tale of Trickery and Timing

I'm sure you've woken up with that feeling. You pry open one mascara-caked eyelid.  Discovering the half-eaten bagel* next to you, the room begins to swirl.

You did it again.

In that moment you realize that you've been tricked. Succumbed to that last cocktail. Confused the lyrics of the "beer before liquor" poem. A wave of nausea and regret instantly rush over you. How could you have been so stupid? Again?!

By you, of course, I mean me: a former frequent victim of the hideous hangover. And as any past roommate will regretfully confirm, the Kasdorf Hangover is mean. It's the kind of wretched event you really don't want to revisit but unfortunately do.

This is much like the effects of chemotherapy. I receive treatment every two weeks, and in that time I feel pretty bad for a few days. But then I feel great. Something about that dramatic contrast seems to erase the awfulness from my mind until it hits me again. Again?! It's the harsh trickery of heavy toxins pumping through my bloodstream (alcoholic or non). Only as my sister, well-versed in the family trait, points out: I didn't do it to myself this time.


*Or Goodfella's or Burrito House nachos (see also: really, really bad hangover)

Check me out. I'm dancing (or pointing)!

http://vidly.com/bJbu

The Effects of Chemo: A Cautionary Tale

Anyone who is aware of my  German-Swedish heritage, my squirmish discomfort in a tanning bed or my blindingly pasty white legs during a wintry rehearsal day knows I'm hopelessly fair skinned.   It came as a surprise when, minutes ago, I discovered a flaming red sunburn spreading across my neck and shoulders. Could it have been the refreshingly sunny 35 degree weather I enjoyed for a good 7 minutes today (clad in 7 layers of clothing)? Or I got too close to the space heater. Sigh. It's probably a lovely combination of chemo treatment and double flu shots yesterday. Be advised: The harmful effects of UV-rays may be causing themselves. Next time I will wear sunscreen.


Best News I got during Chemo cycle 2 Part 1 (with commentary):

*I gained 6 pounds! (So long, knobby knees.)

*My hemoglobin level remains at 11! (Yes, I'm the girl you saw performing "the running man" to the Rocky Theme in the parking garage at Northshore Hospital. And yes, I'm also the girl who consequently fell down.)

*I can (gradually) start teaching again! ($$)

Trampolines and cake

Fourteen days later, and here I am again. Chemo-eve. After six solid days of feeling normal my 3rd cycle begins tomorrow: a 3-hour event of neon-colored chemicals and not much else. My last treatment was (thankfully) very anti-climactic. Although I was honored to be Nurse Cornelia's very first chemo patient while back in the hospital, the experienced nurses at Kellogg made my second time around less, well, adventurous. I'm hoping this time will be the same. But maybe with cake.

And speaking of normalcy, the intermittent return of my muscle strength is a continuous surprise. After some sorry attempts to jump last week in ballet left me with that just-off-the-trampoline feeling of heaviness, I was shocked to find some familiar lift during Wednesday's modern class. And then I had to drag my wobbly body through yoga class on Friday. It's a baffling and constant process that I continue to invoke on my muscle memory.

This perplexing trek marches on...

Proprioceptive Overload

I pride myself in possessing considerable knowledge about my body. While my chosen career may deliver surprising pinches and pains from time to time, I can generally assess the random or chronic issues at hand. However, my recent health diagnosis and subsequent treatment have erased any sense of how everything works. Muscles aches that no golf ball can remedy. An appetite so excessive even Matt has raised an eyebrow. A couch that beckons for far more often than I'd care to sit still. A quickly spreading scalp and forehead. And that bi-monthly adventure my doctor calls chemotherapy has proven that I have zero clue how to treat my body. Luckily I have ten more shots at taming this beast.

I realize that this posting has a more negative, cynical tone. I am extremely positive about my prognosis, relieved to finally know what's wrong and overjoyed to have an enormous support system. But this experience is not without its frustrations. I want to share those realities too.

On a great note, blood tests last Monday confirmed that my hemoglobin (the protein in red blood cells that carries oxygen from the lungs to the rest of the body) has nearly doubled since I was in the hospital three weeks ago. This means I have much more energy and a skin tone that resembles that of a human again. Despite the knock down, drag out brawl my body faced against chemo this weekend I feel better than I have in quite awhile.

But I'm a Leo!

...So you can imagine my surprise, bewilderment and confusion when after 26 years of looking to that bold, fierce symbol for any novelty fortune-telling needs my horoscope indicates that my birthday now falls between August 23 and September 22.

Through six months of self-diagnosis, internet "research," useless doctor visits and a skin tone that quickly faded from healthy to ghost-like, cancer never for a second entered my consciousness. Not once. Even as I sat in the hematology lab telling the 85th intern to ask that I DID NOT remember experiencing any fevers recently I was still convinced it was just pneumonia.

The 95% certainty of my doctor that it was Hodgkin's got through to me the next morning. So after a brief three minutes of being scared out of my mind I started fighting cancer.

Because my birthday is July 30.

The idea to post "The Cancer Dancer" came to me not long after receiving that life-altering information. (Catchy title, inspiring story...read: book and movie deals.) I had immediately considered the implications to my dance career: as an artist, an athlete and as an adult who has to make money. My crazy dance life will be back soon, and this will be the chronicle of how it returns.